Chain Sinnet
by AngelDormais
Summary: Every stitch makes up one part of the whole. .: A collection of drabbles, ficlets, and prompts :.
1. Midnight Snack

_a/n: two-word prompt from the lovely Flynne: "spatula" and "midnight". challenge accepted._

* * *

"It happens at midnight," Don said, pulling the microphone piece over his mouth. "Not one minute before."

Mikey chuckled. He was leaning backwards on the seat, one leg crossed over the other as his foot bounced in the air.

"Relax. We got this." But despite his cheer, he'd been glancing at the screen every few seconds, eyes flickering over strings of numbers and words.

Don grumbled, clearly not sharing in his brother's confidence. "Focus, Mikey! We only get one shot at this!"

"I know, I know," Michelangelo groaned. He dropped his foot and rolled the chair forward, pulling his keyboard closer. "I'm good. I'm focused."

"Leo?" Don called.

 _"In position,"_ came the reply through the headset. _"Raph's here with me."_

 _"This is stupid,"_ Raphael added.

"Raph, don't talk that way about yourself!"

 _"Don't make me come home and whack you, sidelines-boy!"_

 _"Guys,"_ Leonardo chided. _"One minute to midnight. Everyone get ready."_

"I'm glad _someone_ is taking this seriously," Donatello huffed, kneading his eyes. Mikey was glad, because it meant Don couldn't see him roll his. "We're ready, Leo. Waiting on the bogey to drop. I can see you on the map – how's your flank looking?"

 _"Clear. Raph took a beating earlier, but we took care of them all."_

 _"Would've been more fun if I could stab 'em."_

"Ten seconds," Mikey said, cracking his knuckles.

"Move in." Pearls of sweat formed on Donatello's forehead as he watched the screen and panned his camera forward. Suddenly, he saw it: a behemoth lizard dropping from the sky right in front of his brothers, its hide thick with black scales and maw filled with jagged teeth.

"Go!" he shouted, his fingers rapidly flying over the keys. Mikey gave a yelp of surprise to his right, the frantic patter of the keyboard telling Don that he was doing the same.

"Don, they're gonna get torn apart!"

"No they aren't," he grit out. "That's what we're here for."

Despite his words, Don felt the sweat drip down his temple as he tracked the fight. Leo and Raph were expertly dodging in and out of range, landing their hits and withdrawing before their enemy could get a swing in. Leo even managed to cleave its tail off, and Raph took advantage of the ensuing chaos to take an eye out.

Unfortunately, the second injury didn't stun it as long – the creature reared a thick arm and backhanded Raphael across the field, their brother landing in the dirt like a sack of bricks.

"Raph's down!" Mikey shouted in alarm, just as Leo muttered the same thing into Don's ear.

"Get him back up," Don said. "I'm a little busy here!"

" _Hold on,"_ came Leo's strained reply. " _It doesn't have much fight left in it. Stay back; I'm going in for the kill."_

"Are you insane, Leo?" Don yelled. "You're going to ruin this whole op!"

" _It can't know you're here! Stand down!"_ Leo snarled back.

Raph growled into his microphone with a loud puff of air. " _Whatever. Don't mind me, just bleedin' to death."_

Donatello was aware of Mike obediently drawing back from the computer; with no other choice, he reluctantly did the same. He gnawed on his finger as he watched Leo streak forward, dive into a roll underneath the monster's belly, and plunge his weapon inside.

Roaring in pain, the beast fell back, legs sprawling in the air. Then it disappeared in a grand cloud of smoke, and silence fell over the battlefield.

" _Piece of cake,"_ Leo said.

"Yyyy _yyyes!"_ Don leapt up from his chair, sending it spinning in circles behind him. "Just _look_ at all that experience! Level 135, here I come!"

Raphael sighed. " _Yeah, you're a freakin' penthouse. Can one of you come get me off the floor now?"_

"Coming!" The grin in Mikey's voice was audible as he returned to the keyboard and started down the hill. "Sorry, Raphie. The range on this revival spell sucks."

Don's own smile was threatening to split his face as he, too, retrieved his chair and followed Michelangelo. "That's for game balance. It would be too easy if support characters could cast out of aggro range. I guess you made the right call after all, Leo."

" _I try."_

"So why did we have to do this at midnight, anyway?" Mikey asked. "Doesn't this boss respawn every half hour?"

"Yes, but only the one that spawns at _midnight_ drops the Sylmander Liver, which is the last item I need for this Chef Planter quest."

Mike groaned. "Ugh, so not looking forward to doing _that_ one. What's the reward?"

"A Splatula!"

 _"A what?"_ Raph growled.

"A Splatula," Don repeated eagerly. "It's a special, Tier 9 Greatsword. Plus eight to defense, one hundred and fifty fire damage per second, and increases the rate of food-based drops! It'll make the rest of Planter's quests a breeze!"

It was quiet for several seconds, during which time Don took the opportunity to loot the golden treasure chest left behind by the Sylmander's corpse. He cheered happily when the liver appeared in his inventory.

" _You're kiddin' me."_ Raph's voice sounded too stunned for anger. " _You harassed me and Leo into learning how to play this stupid online game, kicked us out of the lair, and then made us bother April about using her extra rigs… so we could help you win a spatula?"_

Mikey sniggered as he took his turn looting. "A spatula with _plus eight defense_ , Raph!"

There was an audible groan over the line and a sharp beat of static that probably indicated that Raph had just thrown his headset somewhere.

 _"A spatula is not a sword,"_ Leo added, somewhat tersely, before both his headset and character logged off.

Don blinked. "What's their problem? They didn't even loot!"

Hiding his laughter behind his hand, Mikey watched Raph's character begin to perform an idle dance animation. "Guess we'll just have to help them do this again later!"


	2. Emergency Response

_a/n: anonymous prompt: "kidnap, rescue"._

* * *

He awoke to April dragging him up by the wrist. It was dark, the air was dusty and sweltering, and adrenaline still roared through his veins. He followed her gaze to the crumpled metal-bar door at the end of the hallway, blown clear into the pitch-black room beyond.

"It work?" He asked, not trusting his swimming vision.

"It worked," she responded, her eyes trained forward. She released his arm to unfold her tessen with a flick of her wrist. He followed, staggering to his feet and pulling his own weapon free. Empty containers from the supply closet clattered against his shins.

"Nice improv," he said, only barely noticing that his words were starting to slur. "You coulda been a scientist in another life."

Her gaze flashed to his profile, scanning the mop of bloody hair plastered against his face. As she returned to the doorway, her voice became tight.

"You sure you're up for this?"

It wasn't a question, really, but his response was laughter.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Red. Let's bring our guys home."

Four pairs of glazed, red-rimmed eyes gleamed out from the darkness, and he took a deep breath, slotting a dart into his gun.

"One way or another," April agreed softly.

Breathless snarls echoed through the narrow passageway, giving Casey just enough warning. When the first blurred shape bolted towards them, he aimed and pulled the trigger.


	3. Kaleidophone

_a/n: an old, old piece i recovered deep from the depths of my tumblr._

* * *

Acid in his spine, tearing him apart from the inside. Gunfire and smoke. Vertigo. He's flat on his shell. Leonardo grasps for his sword, loosening dirt and warm blood into his palm. (Is it his? It feels too warm against his skin.) Cloudy eyes squint behind dark shades, searching for something that isn't there. The answer to what he seeks is already darkening his mind.

He is dying.

His next breath, a ragged gasp that rocks his core, comes as a surprise, and he wonders if the sound like scraping glass inside of him is the last he'll ever hear. Perhaps it's fitting–he abandoned his family, and now he'll die alone, to the sounds of war and his own death played inside him with all the crackling and stuttering of an aged record player. If this is all he has, then so be it. His final moments are spent not longing for the light, but embracing the darkness that has colored his entire existence in its different shades.

He will remember it. For the seconds of life he has left, he will commit to memory not gunfire and broken bodies, but the peaceful nothingness, (the sense of loneliness,) that has haunted him for the years spent knowing that even sight would not save him from the darkness permeating this world.

He has heard and seen everything. Knowing this, he lets go.

(But the last thing he hears before the blackest shade comes is not the hollowness of his mind. It is a distant, mangled cry of _Leo._ He cannot match a face, or a tone, or a meaning, but there is a strange, brilliant flash of multicolored light before his eyes, echoing around the edges of his vision like an aurora of sound, just before the black silence sweeps in.)


	4. Elite

_a/n - word prompt: elite_

* * *

"What's your name?"

The question surprised you, your fingers slipping from the wet gash across your shoulder. You fumbled with shredded cloth and skin and glared up at your executioner with narrowed eyes. Silence was intended to be your answer, but the shadowed figure towering over you seemed to take it as prompting.

"No one should die nameless," he said. A softness blunted the edges of his voice, a weapon itself that you've heard barking orders in battle, as sharp and fortified as the blades crossed over your throat.

It was something you should not hear. It was a tone reserved for those he didn't meet in battle. It was infuriating, and you felt ashamed to have it turned upon you.

"Your comrades are dead," the turtle repeated. It wasn't quite regret that softened him. "Each of them."

"Then I shall join them," you responded.

"Yes," the turtle said. "But they didn't get the chance to die as human beings. Maybe you can."

You wheezed, close to laughter.

"I have not been human in a long time."

The creature's face was all leathery scales and blue cloth and sharp, reptilian features; perhaps you were imagining the glint of humor cutting through the dark gray of his eyes.

"Neither have I," he said. "But I still have a name. Leonardo."

You remained silent. You knew the turtle's name. You knew all of their names. It made no difference; except, then, the blades disappeared from your throat, skillfully sliding over your collarbones without drawing even a thin line of blood. You looked on as Leonardo slid the katana into their sheaths.

"Don't come here again. Human, Elite - you'll die as you are."

And perhaps the real humor was that the gentleness was gone from the warning; only cold fact, a calculus at odds with the mercy of his gesture. He glanced to the street, to the lower level of the antique shop, warmly and sleepily lit in the dusk.

"But I hope you choose to live."

Then Leonardo vanished, and you thought of a time when he was the nameless wretch at your feet; and who, exactly, emerged from the building your late Master had hurled him into and lit ablaze.


End file.
